Chapter 45: The Perfect Vessel

Xie Yingnian had said she would be back soon, and she really was. Zhong Jia had just finished a round of Fight the Landlord and settled the score when she could wait no longer. She was about to crane her neck to peer backward when the car door slid open with a whoosh. A familiar voice rang out from above her head. “Why aren’t you heading to the rest room?”

Xie Yingnian had walked along the road and noticed the car engine still running. She had not hurried up the steps toward the set. Sure enough, as she drew near the vehicle, she glanced through the window and spotted a dazed little girl inside. The child stared blankly at the screen while the system prompted her to play in dialect—an amusing sound.

“It’s much quieter here.” Zhong Jia scooted to the side. Xie Yingnian sat down naturally, and their shoulders pressed close together.

It was quiet—ideal for private conversation in such an intimate space.

Xie Yingnian murmured in agreement and switched on the air conditioning. Zhong Jia shrugged off her trench coat. Prayer beads encircled Xie Yingnian’s wrist, the agate beads a vivid blood-red. With that hand, she gently brushed aside the girl’s bangs, which had grown long enough to obscure her eyes. “What do you want to ask?”

She knew her own constitution ran cold, especially during illness. After the wind outside, her touch would feel icy. Xie Yingnian withdrew her hand soon after, ever considerate.

Yet the girl captured her chilled hands in her own warm palms and rubbed them gently, sharing her heat.

“What do you want to tell me?” Zhong Jia turned the question back on her. Her tone was calm, devoid of any pressure.

Xie Yingnian gazed down at the girl’s thoughtful gesture. The hand resting atop hers was fair and slender, kneading rhythmically and setting her own heart aflutter.

“I didn’t pry before, and I won’t now,” Zhong Jia continued. “Even if I begged and wheedled an answer out of you, would it mean the same as if you shared it willingly?”

She lowered her eyes, her smile strained. “My mother might have taught me only this one brutal lesson, but it’s etched in my memory. I’m nothing like her—far luckier, because I met you. I won’t demand your unreserved honesty, but at least give me the chance to draw close, to understand you. Can you do that?”

Xie Yingnian shifted her gaze away, staring calmly out the window. Words failed her for a moment. She longed to correct the girl. Was it truly luck? She could not even promise that herself.

“Or do I not deserve your trust?”

Xie Yingnian turned back. Her eyelashes fluttered. The girl before her had no idea how utterly heart-melting her expression was in that instant.

Her sincere plea hung unanswered. Zhong Jia retreated another step, inwardly blaming her youth. She was still in school, her career barely begun. She could offer no security to the one she loved.

Her eyelids drooped faintly. That tender, pale face bore reddened eyes, tears held stubbornly at bay—a resilience forged from years of hardship.

Xie Yingnian recalled how this girl cried in bed, tears flowing like an open faucet. She wondered if it was genuine, but such effort to please her was impossible to ignore.

Everyone harbored a curiosity for others’ secrets, especially in intimate bonds without boundaries. Some exploited their advantages. As one of the few who knew her truths, they wielded those secrets to wound her.

Xie Yuyao lingered in the distance; closer still was Shi Cainran, now seemingly severed cleanly at last.

“Zhong Jia,” Xie Yingnian called softly.

In her mind, she wondered: If you knew a pure yet pitch-black unknown lurked at the bottom of that deep blue lake, would you still step into the whirlpool that would draw you inexorably down?

“Hm?” Zhong Jia responded to the summons, smiling as she rubbed her eyes. “You rarely call me by name like that.”

Xie Yingnian took hold of her hand and drew it away. Now she saw clearly the faint wetness at the corners of those eyes—a plain declaration of grievance. Emotions welled in her own gaze. Her throat tickled. She turned aside and coughed once, suppressing it.

Your constitution is not as robust as you claim.

After all, a severe childhood illness had even impaired her hearing. Back then on set, Qiao Yingqiu had sent countless supplements to Qingyuan County—for elders and children alike.

“Xie Yingnian, do you want to kiss me?” Zhong Jia asked.

“Teacher Zhong’s eyes are as sharp as ever—you even spotted that.” Xie Yingnian blinked. Her fatigued gaze drifted slowly to Zhong Jia’s lips.

They skirted the unresolved questions, and their atmosphere seemed to return to normal. But this was no strategic delay—mere avoidance. Time would only widen the fissure.

If—and I mean if—there was no future, then at least they should savor the present.

The women they were today still desired one another and could satisfy that need—as girlfriends.

“Why not kiss me?” Zhong Jia stared at her, tilting her chin upward and tapping her own lips with a finger. Her eyes shone brightly, like twin stars fallen from the sky, diligent in their glow.

She knew how to choose. What a beautiful vessel. Between those thick upper and lower lashes, her slightly darker pupils gleamed pure, stripped of all impurities. Their eyes met, revealing her untainted sincerity.

“I’m sick. You should keep your distance,” Xie Yingnian replied.

Her mask slipped from one ear. She froze. Outside, rain suddenly poured—a fierce summer omen, pounding relentlessly. Streaks of water snaked down the glass, mirroring the girl who leaned in close.

The car rocked faintly.

“Then I’ll get sick right along with you.” Zhong Jia knelt on one knee atop the seat. She bent forward. Her comfortable attire left her collar loose, flashing a curve of snow-white skin through Xie Yingnian’s line of sight. “Before we truly fall ill, remember this: I kissed you.”

She tugged the strap from her other ear. The pale blue-white mask fell away completely. With the barrier gone, she willingly approached the unpredictable peril.

Zhong Jia grasped Xie Yingnian’s shoulders and leaned down to kiss her. Lacking experience, she had no finesse—simply lips meeting lips. The wetness and heat scrambled her thoughts. Her overly eager efforts were schooled by the woman she kissed, who demonstrated with fierce passion.

Innocent. Shy. Zhong Jia closed her eyes, then opened them. A firm grip settled on her waist. Strands of Xie Yingnian’s hair draped softly against her pale neck. She drew the engrossed girl into her embrace. Their lips parted for a breath before she kissed back with ease, inverting their positions effortlessly.

The rain drummed on. A stray thought slipped through, burrowing into her ear and circling her mind unchecked.

Her palm spanned Zhong Jia’s nape—a seemingly tender hold that brooked no escape. Xie Yingnian nipped her lip. A cold voice echoed in her chest: the woman intoned icily, Yes, you kissed me. So if you fall ill, it’s what you deserve.

You deserve it.

Zhong Jia struggled for breath amid gasps that deepened with each one. She strained to read the moment. No better chance existed. Xie Yingnian, what races through your mind right now?

But those serene eyes reflected only the girl whose cheeks flushed hotter, intent on claiming what was hers.

Her back suddenly met another’s warmth. A deft hand moved. One button came undone. Xie Yingnian’s intent sent a chill racing up Zhong Jia’s spine. She clutched the wrist instinctively. “No, don’t… not here.”

The windows were sealed tight. Torrential rain fell. Lunch break meant few people outside. Still, her imagined scenarios set her heart pounding.

Xie Yingnian said nothing, nor did she restrain the girl’s restless hand. Her palm traced the arch of that heaving spine. Silence. Her eyes posed the question: Not even here?

Moments later, Zhong Jia released her grip slowly. She buried her face in Xie Yingnian’s shoulder and neck. Her ear tips burned red. She inhaled the scent that intoxicated her, surrendering to whatever came next.

In that instant, the girl’s all-out expression filled Xie Yingnian’s vision. She savored the memory of those fractured moans. Her hands stilled, venturing no further.

Zhong Jia blinked in confusion. The car’s drab interior surrounded them. Xie Yingnian’s voice emerged flat, emotionless. “Could you spend a lifetime in one place, just you and me? No acting from me, no singing from you, no outside contacts. Have you imagined such a life?”

Such a life would never do.

On a video call, Chen Kuang wore a baseball cap as she strolled a crowded street in Yanjing. Hanfu-clad women passed in the background here and there. For the seventh time, she declared, “This life can’t go on.”

In the bathroom, Zhong Jia’s phone rested on a stand. She brushed her teeth, bending to spit out a mouthful of foam. She heard Wa Si complain through endless yawns. “Senior sister, give it a rest. Ju Zai’s just gone abroad for studies, not forever.”

Chen Kuang huffed lightly and stepped into a milk tea shop. A towering glass building loomed behind her, its glare a harsh light pollution. Passersby dressed lightly there—summer truly beckoned.

Chongxiang was different, with stark day-night temperature swings. One needed a jacket even for afternoon outings.

A message popped up at the top of the screen. From Shi Heng: Flight around eight tonight. Everything smooth on your end? A Cha’s handling luggage. Once you’re there, come straight to the company. We need to lock in your recent schedule and catch up on any missed training.

Zhong Jia reached for a towel and wiped the toothpaste from her mouth. With her clean hand, she tapped into WeChat to reply. Lately, she relied on voice-to-text—too lazy otherwise. A Cha had even remarked that Tiantian seemed low on energy.

She forgot the call was still connected. No voice messages.

Chen Kuang ranted on like a loudspeaker. She suspected her fiancée of infidelity under the guise of study abroad—foreign women with ample curves, enough to steal any soul?

Wa Si, roused early by this disgruntled wife-in-waiting and still groggy, shot back, “You know you’re as flat front and back as…”

The up-and-coming female singer in the music world had no qualms about her idol image. She bellowed at the top of her lungs, “Get lost! This old lady’s getting implants next month! It’s just a flat ass—Ju Zai likes ’em that way.”

What? Then why had she always been groping Tiantian before?

“You surname-Wa bitch, say that again!”

“I’m not surname Wa. My full name’s Old Long…”

Zhong Jia stifled a laugh and tapped out a message on her phone’s keypad to the ever-forgetful Shi Heng: Bro, did you forget? I told you last time—after we wrap, I want a few days off.

She was heading to Jincheng, to Wonderful Cloud Temple. She had already booked the tickets.

She waited for ages with no reply from Shi Heng. Returning to her chat list, the pinned profile picture made her pause for a moment. How long had it been since they’d last talked?

Lost in thought, she didn’t watch her step. Zhong Jia stepped into thin air perfectly. Her arms flailed wildly in the empty space, with nothing to grab onto. She crashed hard to the ground, her left knee slamming brutally against the doorframe.

“Hiss…” Zhong Jia drew in a sharp breath of cold air. She rolled up her pant leg, hugged her knee, and blew on it gently. It was still early before she had to head out, so she simply flipped over and sat on the floor.

—Xie Yingnian, I hurt my leg, you…

She pondered, then deleted it word by word.

—You just wake up? Want to head to the set together? I’m wrapping this afternoon, hey.

Hey what hey? Was her mood really that light?

The input box remained a lonely blank. Zhong Jia sighed. The screen went dark. Her friend’s call went unanswered. Her thoughts rewound relentlessly, back to that day of pouring rain.

Xie Yingnian’s question had been so strange. She had laughed and answered without thinking, “Of course not. I have my friends, and you have yours. Why would we cut off all contact?”

Her skin was fair and tender; a nasty bruise soon welled up on her knee.

Ignoring the pain, Zhong Jia propped her head on her hand and puzzled over it. What was wrong with that answer? Why had Xie Yingnian just given a faint “mm” in response, then vanished completely? She had calmly helped her into her underwear, and when the rain let up a bit, she had grabbed the spare umbrella from the car and walked her back to the lounge.

After that day, Xie Yingnian had never reached out to her first.

Zhong Jia vaguely understood something. When she returned the room key, there had been a touch of petulance in it. She hadn’t expected Xie Yingnian to actually take it back. Before long, the distance between them had returned to what it was at the start of filming—or even greater.

The wrap scene was a makeup shot for an earlier segment. No one knew what had gotten into Nong Siqing. The movie’s ending was set in stone in the script, but on a whim, she had written an extra scene herself. It might play as an Easter egg in theaters.

The assistant director chuckled. “Director Nong, your Easter egg still has that BE vibe.” The big Northeastern guy pronounced the two letters of “BE” in a hilariously thick accent, sending everyone into peals of laughter.

Nong Siqing replied, “Really? I thought I gave it a bit of hope.”

She smiled faintly as the monitors captured several angles focused on Chongxiang County Women’s Prison. The sky hung oppressively low, as if the heavy clouds might collapse at any moment. On the day Kong Can’s sentence ended, Ruan Ting stood waiting under the camphor tree in a brand-new dress. The scalloped hem of the frock hugged her still graceful figure, years later. It was the same outfit she had worn when they first met.

The market had been completely transformed under the government’s sweeping reforms. The braised duck shop had moved from the south side of town to the north. Ruan Ting’s last visit had been three years ago. Now, the shuttered storefront in the bustling district bore a wind-wrinkled, rain-soaked “for lease” sign.

She hadn’t bought the braised duck that had both bound them in enmity and fate, but her mere presence was the greatest gift.

Ruan Ting had waited for this day for so long. Lately, even her dreams featured her embracing Kong Can tightly beyond the high walls. She held this girl to whom she had given her youth; with nothing else to offer in return, she could only give the rest of her life.

A light breeze scattered it all. She ran with the wind, chasing madly, only to catch her own skirt hem and tumble into a swamp that swallowed her like a ferocious beast…

A nightmare. But dreams were the opposite of reality.

She gazed at the gate in the distance as it slowly creaked open, her heart a mix of anticipation and anxiety. Her palms were slick with sweat, her eyes growing hot. She walked forward.

The Easter egg cut there, leaving endless room for imagination.

The main film’s ending was obvious, though. The extra would only fool viewers who hadn’t paid close attention—or those who preferred to deceive themselves. Nong Siqing was skilled at using visual elements to hint at the truth: the pressure from the Shi family, the unbearable days of imprisonment, the dual torment of body and soul. In Kong Can’s final shot, after the visit ended, she turned away from Ruan Ting. The light in her eyes snuffed out in an instant.

“Cut,” Nong Siqing told the crew assistant. “Prep the next scene.”

The assistant didn’t dawdle and hurried off to coordinate. Glancing over, he let out a “hey.” “Teacher Zhong, your leg…”

The speaker was still on, and his voice carried. Xie Yingnian heard it and looked over.

She stood on the stairs, one foot on the lower step and the other on the upper, clearly about to head to the second floor.

All she could see was the girl quickly surrounded by staff of all shapes and sizes, milling about. She focused on that soft, pale face and found it. Zhong Jia was in the middle of the crowd, chatting and laughing with everyone as she limped forward—one step deep, one shallow. She was moving slowly, as if she’d hurt herself somewhere.

Xie Yingnian’s brows furrowed ever so slightly. Her gaze didn’t linger.

Zhong Jia had spotted Xie Yingnian the moment she arrived but had kept her eyes averted. Only when that figure in pale yellow shrank to the edge of her peripheral vision did she look up casually. But by then, Xie Yingnian was already gone, leaving only the late-March breeze stinging the corners of her eyes.

“Can you manage?” Nong Siqing asked when Zhong Jia reached her, looking concerned. “The next scene’s all standing, and we’ll be doing a lot of takes.”

Zhong Jia smiled. “I’m good. Just a scrape. I’m not that delicate.”

A broad hand ruffled the back of her head. Nong Siqing said, “Once we wrap, go do something you enjoy. It’s time to come out.”

She was young, after all, and couldn’t keep her composure. She caught the implication in those words and desperately wanted to say something—anything—but nothing came. She bowed her head to hold it back, but in the silence, her emotions only surged more fiercely.

From the second-floor window, Xie Yingnian watched. She held the same pose for a long time, until Zhong Jia finally stood and headed toward the building. Then her breath hitched briefly.

“Nian Jie, here’s what you wanted.” Jujiu had returned from outside and handed her a tube of ointment.

Xie Yingnian took it, confirmed it was the exact one she’d insisted on several times over, and slipped it into her pocket.